My Princess
by Arufabetto
Summary: The classic tale of Cinderella, rewritten with a less Disney-esqe edge and a healthy dose of GaaHina. AU, Oneshot.


A/N: Alright, so this was originally a story written for school. The assignment was to re-write the ending of Cinderella, starting from after the ball. I recently found this saved among my files and thought it'd be fun to change some parts and make it fanfic-tastic. GaaHina was chosen for my friend, Bluerazzledazzle 'cause she likes the pairing. It's also the only het pairing that I don't hate that I could think of.

-Arufabetto

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The bell tolled twelve a final time, and the blue gowned girl slipped in through the door just as her clothes became soot covered rags again. She sighed quietly and sat in her small chair near the fireplace. She stared into the dying flames, watching the cinders flicker and burn.

The small, black-blue haired girl moved her hand to her pocket and felt a small something there. She pulled it out, turning the tiny glass slipper over in her hands. "So it wasn't all just a dream," she mused.

Suddenly, she got the sensation someone was watching her. She glanced up, and standing before her was her stepmother. "Where did you get that?" her stepmother asked, glaring at her.

"I found it in the garden," Hinata stated very matter-of-factly, surprising even herself that she didn't stutter. Her thoughts instantly went to the prince. It was around him that, for the first time in her life, that she didn't stutter.

The slipper was returned to her pocket and she slipped upstairs without another sound. She entered her bedroom in the attic, and slumped down onto the bed. Not even stopping to change into something more comfortable, she drifted off into a deep sleep, images of a certain red-headed prince circling her dreams.

Hinata was awoken a few hours later by the sound of loud arguing downstairs. She tiptoed downstairs. There, in the hall area near the door, stood her stepmother and stepsisters, accompanied by two visitors. Standing by the door was the dear Kazekage, Gaara, and one of his footman. The footman, a small nervous looking man, carried a purple pillow in one hand. Resting on that pillow was a tiny glass slipper, hardly large enough to fit a child.

The footman lifted the slipper up and attempted to slip it onto one of the stepsister's feet. Hanabi's foot, if I'm not mistaken. The man was gently trying to shove it on to her foot. She grunted and snatched it from his hand and forced her toes into it, the glass looking as though it might crack from the sheer effort.

Neji, her stepbrother, grabbed it from her. "You're foot's far too fat for this. Let _me_ try." Now, his foot was even larger then his sisters, and could not even fit his toes into it.

Hinata giggled as the two fought over the slipper. Her stepmother whirled around and the two locked eyes. She quickly turned and returned to her room.

A few moments later her stepmother stepped in the door, carrying a cup of tea on a tray. "Hello, sweetheart. Have some tea," she said warmly, handing the cup to Hinata. She had seen the slipper that morning and recognized it immediately. It was the same one Hinata had 'found in the garden.' She knew that it's partner would fit only Hinata, and she couldn't just let her perfectly good slave run off with a prince destined for one of her real children, now could she?

The stepmother's highly nefarious mind had gotten to work on a plan instantly. She had poisoned some tea with the rat poison she always had around. For some reason, nasty little mice seemed to swarm to Hinata. And now Hinata sat before her, sipping at the deadly tea.

"I'll leave you here," she said quietly and returned downstairs. Barely a minute had passed before loud thumps began to come from upstairs, growing louder by the second. Then suddenly, down the steps tumbled fair maiden. Hinata, dead as a doornail, dropped onto the floor most ungracefully.

Prince Gaara rushed over to her to see if she was alright. Obviously, she wasn't. "My princess," he whispered, recognizing her from the ball. He then gently kissed her perfect lips. In a faerie tale, she would spring back to life now and all would be perfect. Shame this _isn't_ a faerie tale.

He held her for a moment more, then laid her back down. He rushed out the door, not even stopping to let his footman figure out what was happening and where he was going. He unhitched one of the horses from the carriage and rode it back to the castle.

He wandered into the garden, inside of him empty and bleak. His love was gone, and he had only even had one night with her. He collapsed onto a bench, the same on where he and Hinata had sat and shared a magical evening.

He drew his blade from it's sheath and stared at his reflection on the highly polished metal. His face was perfect and his fiery-red locks were neatly groomed, silky and shiny. He growled. None of that mattered. He could never love again.

Prince Gaara dropped to one knee and held the sword out before him, as if presenting it to a king. He held that position for quite some time, until he felt ready. He turned the weapon so the point faced him and positioned it on his chest. "My love. This is for you," he whispered, shoving the blade through his heart with every ounce of strength he had.

There he died, laid to rest amongst the flowers and faint sense of magic. Perhaps he joined his beloved in death. Only the dead can answer that question, and odds are, they aren't talking.


End file.
